


Boyderiffic Drabble Things

by Mandibles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Time, Futanari, Genderfuck, M/M, Season 3 Spoilers, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-17 12:06:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mandibles/pseuds/Mandibles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I have a lot, a lot of Boyd-related plot bunnies that I don't have the attention span to put into a full story. So this seemed like a good idea.</p><p>Update: ftm!Boyd/magically futa!Erica, no porn, just cutes</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scott/ftm!Boyd, first time

**Author's Note:**

> Psssst. If you have any Boyd-related drabble ideas, just drop 'em here at my [Tumblr](http://mmandibles.tumblr.com/ask), 'kay? And I'll write practically any Boyd pairing; I mean, I'm considering writing Boyd/Peter because I have problems. And if you prompt Boyd porn, I will love you forever.

It’s the look that gets him.

It’s not the first time he’s gotten the look, and it sure as hell isn’t the last, but it—it’s just not the same. Because if it was anyone else—anyone—he’d be able to just right it off, to walk away and wash his hands clean of the whole damn thing—the situation, the person, everything. But the thing is, he actually likes Scott and, maybe, considers him a friend. So getting the look from him, just that little pinch of confusion in his brow, fucking terrifies Boyd.

See, Boyd’s a boy and has always, always, always been a boy. He’s just a boy with a vagina and no one’s ever gotten that, you know? No one but Erica who took it like she’d known all along.

No one else got it like her.

Now Boyd’s here, sprawled back on Scott’s couch with his jeans ‘round his ankles and Scott’s hand down his boxers and his lips still tingling from kisses they’ve shared and he’s terrified—fucking terrified—that Scott’s not going to get it either.

"I—" Boyd scrambles for words. When his brain comes up empty-handed, his mouth moves unrestrained. “I probably should have told you."

Scott opens his mouth and, for one, sweet second Boyd thinks that he’s going to say something to fix this horrible, awful thing that’s happening, thinks it with a hope he’s only felt once before, hand in hand with Erica, the howls of what could be a pack reverberating around them. But instead there’s just this measly, “Oh," and Boyd’s stomach sinks.

Really, can nothing go right? Not even once?

Boyd halts that train of thought, steels himself with a deep exhale through his nostrils, and instead wonders if it would be best to pull Scott’s hand from his bits first or just reach down for his jeans and let Scott take the hint to do it himself. He soon decides to just extricate himself from the entire situation as quickly as possible, easing himself from under Scott and mumbling, “Sorry. Shit, I—This is weird," under his breath and—

And Scott stops him. Holds his hips and stops him. Pulls his hand from his pants and stops him. He stops him.

And he does it with that half-smile, that sweet, self-deprecating one Boyd appreciates more than he’d like to admit.

Scott just grabs his hips and smiles with dimples and says, “Can I suck your cock?"so simply, so naturally, like—like—like there’s nothing amiss here. Like nothing’s wrong.

It—It startles a laugh from Boyd. And another. Then a third and fourth and fifth and sixth until tears prick his eyes and he makes some sort of noise behind his fist, something between a hysterical giggle and a sob. Not that it matters, really, because Scott’s crawling up and swallowing down the sound in a kiss that has Boyd clutching Scott’s hair in a grip that must hurt.

But Scott doesn’t bat an eyelash. He just kisses harder, smiles harder, and laughs without a single fuck in the world.

"Yeah," Boyd croaks finally, butting his nose with Scott’s as he wheezes for air. “Yeah—fuck, just—yeah. Do it."

Scott carelessly gets Boyd’s nostrils with a kiss. “Do what?"

It takes a second. “Suck my cock," Boyd manages, voice firmer than he thought possible.

And, with one last wayward peck, Scott drags Boyd’s boxers to his thighs and does just that.


	2. Boyd, gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boyd + Derek, gen
> 
> Spoilers for "Currents"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not okay. Just throwing it out there.

Somehow… Somehow he knew this was how things would go.

He remembers Kali’s words from that night, so well, so clear.

Pack or family, Derek? Pack or family?

He remembers the way Derek’s jaw tightened, the shock—the genuine fear—hidden behind the red of his eyes and the frantic beating of his heart. He remembers the way Derek looked at them, first to Cora, throat under one of Kali’s clawed feet, and then to him, his face shoved into concrete.

He remembers Derek’s honest-to-god inability to decide. And he remembers trying to get his mouth to work around blood and saliva, because he was damned ready to make the decision for him.

No man should have to lose his sister like that. No man—no brother—could ever live with that guilt.

Boyd knows that too well.

And if sacrificing himself means saving another older brother from that kind of agony, then that’s okay. It’s okay. Him for Derek. That’s okay.

It doesn’t happen that night, but when it finally happens later on, what he had expected to happen since he first saw that conflict in Derek’s eyes and reached a firm decision within himself, he tells Derek just that.

It’s okay.

 

 


	3. Scott/Boyd, some more first time stuff

Somewhere along the line, kissing Boyd became as natural as breathing. Though leaning up for the kiss was odd at first—as was just kissing a guy in general—they’ve managed to develop a sweet sort of game plan together, each set to meet each other halfway. So when Scott tilts his head up, Boyd dips his, and when Scott licks the seam of Boyd’s lips, Boyd obediently parts them. And it’s good; it’s all so, so good.

It’s good even if they haven’t gotten much farther than these good, good kisses. I course Scott doesn’t want to try to fix something that isn’t broken, but there’s always this pull in when stomach when the kissing goes for too long and reaches a point where it should naturally shift into something else.

Like to resting his hands on Boyd’s hips or to creeping beneath Boyd’s shirt or to reaching back and grabbing Boyd’s ass—

"Scott—"

"Sorry!" Scott snatches his hands away and stuff them in his pockets where they can do no harm. “Sorry, I just—"

Boyd stares hard at him, brows drawn in an expression he’s become too familiar with. Scott’s stomach drops, just as it always does, just as when he first found Boyd alone at his lunch table after the bank incident. And it hurts.

Just as Scott’s about to blurt another apology, Boyd reaches for him—just reaches—and wraps his hands around Scott’s wrist. And Scott doesn’t know how he manages it, but Boyd—who’s big and broad and sturdy—can also look just so sweet, so shy and unsure and nervous, that this time when his stomach lurches, there are butterflies fluttering and flowers blooming and imaginary sunlight caught in Boyd’s eyelashes.

Boyd says, “Okay," like he’s answering some question Scott forgot he asked and then he’s easing Scott’s hands from his pockets and putting them back where they were, reaching behind Boyd, and Scott finds himself murmuring, “Okay," too.

"Are you—You’re sure about this?" he ventures seriously, even though he’s breathless and distracted by how wet Boyd’s lips look. “Because we, uh, we don’t have to, you know. We can—"

Boyd quiets him with a kiss, soft and sweet and entirely initiated by Boyd—no fifty-fifty split here—and, well— “We can see where things go, I guess," Boyd says.

Well, Boyd means business.

Scott smiles, lips still tingling. “Cool."


	4. ftm!Boyd/magically futa!Erica

The first time Boyd climbed out of his boxers, all Erica really said was, “Oh.” And while that was enough to make him panic, in the next breath her arms were wrapped around him and her lips were on his, and the relief alone broke the wall of anxiety that he’d built brick by brick until that moment. There was no need to talk about anything when Erica was stealing his air with her tongue and creeping her fingers down his pubic bone to his clit, so, well, amen for that.

The eighth time Erica shimmies out of her panties, though, Boyd admits that he is, uh, startled. Enough so that his, “Oh,” is followed by a, “My god,” and even a, “ _How_?” He might just be justified, he thinks, because what’s there now, raised tall and flushed with blood and swayed to the right just a bit—her right, not his—was not there seven times ago.

“Don’t fuss,” she says, wiggling her legs until her panties hit the floor and she kicks it away. Then she tosses her hair back and grins, hands on hips. “Besides, you’re the last person who gets to judge.”

Boyd shuffles back, drops on the bed. “I know that. And I’m not—I’m not judging. I’m just—” He rubs his chin. “How? How long have you, you know, had it?”

Erica glances down at her pretty little dick, smiles at the thing, and shrugs. “I just woke up one morning and, pop, there it was.” She laughs, but it falls short at Boyd’s blank stare. “What?”

“Dicks don’t just appear like ‘pop.’”

“Well, this one did and I’ve gotta say, I like.” She swings her hips and her cock swings with her, no less hard than it was a second ago and fuck. “I figure it’s better than the plastic shit, right?”

Boyd doesn’t hear her; his neck cranes low, his head tilted.

“Do you—Are those—”

“Balls? Yuh-huh!” Erica singsongs, kicking a leg up, showing them off. “I’ve got a full set here and I say we test it out—Hey, what—”

Boyd finishes rubbing his eyes and peeks at Erica—at her dick,  _shit_ —from between his fingers. His cheeks fucking  _burn_.

“Don’t you think this is just the slightest bit fucked up?”

That earns a bit of scrunchy-nosed disapproval, but it quickly smoothes out in favor of biting her lip as she tiptoes forward. When she’s close enough, she rests her hands on Boyd’s shoulders, and Boyd pushes to his feet if only to prevent Erica’s cock from poking one of his eyes. Boyd doesn’t stop her from leaning up and kissing him because he’d never, ever stop her from doing that, even when there’s a strange, new, for once not plastic thing nudging him just as her breasts push against him.

He opens his mouth to her and he sighs and she moans and then he moans when she slides her hands under his shirt, digs her fingers into his sides.

“Do you want to stop?” Erica whispers against his lips.

Boyd noses at her face. “No.”

“Is this still fucked up?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

She nods, then grins and tickles up his sides. “Do you want to suck my dick?”

That startles a laugh from deep in Boyd. He grabs Erica by the hips and smiles himself.  “Maybe.”

Erica mulls the answer over for a second. “Good enough,” she decides, pushing for another kiss.


End file.
